


Asset, Agent, Hunter, Spy

by calculatingthestars



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Action, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Espionage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, h/c, jalec - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6477064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calculatingthestars/pseuds/calculatingthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Canon compliant.</i> The war begins. Jace leaves with Valentine, playing the part of the loyal soldier even as he feeds the Clave intel on the Circle’s every move. The war goes on, and Alec watches his parabatai fall apart.<br/> ---<br/><i>It’s been two weeks since Jace had left with Valentine, passing through the portal and onto his father’s ship. His base of operations, a vessel of war that moves from port to port, impossible to track through supernatural means because it’s over the water. His old phone is gone; Valentine had thrown it overboard as soon as they’d arrived, and Jace is too cautious to try to contact anyone from the one he’s been provided.</i></p><p>  <i>His side is tender, smarting. Training had been rough this morning. </i></p><p>  <i>“You look like hell.” </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Season 1 canon compliant. The title is a homage to “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy”, a film about espionage during the Cold War. This is primarily show!verse, with one small reference to a passage excerpt from Cassandra Clare’s Twitter regarding how Alec felt when he first met Jace.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Graphic here.](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/142366381678/asset-agent-hunter-spy-1-of-6-one)

They meet in an alley, nondescript and completely indistinguishable from any other. There is steam rising from the grate, the stench of it distinctly New York, and Jace shudders under his jacket, pulling the material tighter around himself.

 _Two weeks_.

It’s been two weeks since he’d left with Valentine, passing through the portal and onto his father’s ship. His base of operations, a vessel of war that moves from port to port, impossible to track through supernatural means because it’s over the water. His old phone is gone; Valentine had thrown it overboard as soon as they’d arrived, and Jace is too cautious to try to contact anyone from the one he’s been provided.

His side is tender, smarting. Training had been rough this morning.

“You look like hell.”

Alec’s voice is quiet, but it carries. Something inside of Jace unclenches when he sees his parabatai, and his boots tread soundlessly as he holds out a hand. Alec takes it, pulls him into a surprisingly tight embrace. “I wasn’t sure if you’d show.”

“I told you I would,” Jace says, pulling away. “This was always the plan.”

“The plan was that you would text me,” Alec replies tightly. “That you’d try to get a message out before the actual meet. Not once was complete radio silence for two weeks on the table, Jace.” The worry in his voice is almost palpable, but Jace merely looks away, his mismatched eyes finding the iron grate, focuses on that instead.

“I couldn’t risk it,” he says. “My f—Valentine watches my every move. He’s been training me again, building up the rest of the army. There’s too much at stake.”

He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. It’s longer now, bordering on unkempt, and part of Alec sympathizes. He knows how much Jace cares about his appearance. “Fine,” he says. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters. Do you have anything we can use?”

Jace nods, pulling out a disposable thumb drive from his pocket. “Numbers,” he says. “How many new Shadowhunters he’s managed to make; how many mundie recruits we’re expecting the next time we dock. The names of the mundanes who didn’t survive the process. Potential targets, locations. Everything I could get is on this, but it isn’t much. He doesn’t trust me, yet.”

Alec swears softly under his breath, shaking his head. “Are you sure you want to go back?” he asks. “It’s only going to get worse from here. You _know_ that. If you return to the Institute tonight, we can explain to the Clave that it was all a plan to get into his inner circle. If we show them this, they’ll have no choice but to pardon you.”

Jace’s laugh is thin, hoarse. He presses the thumb drive into Alec’s hand. “You know as well as I do that this isn’t nearly enough to get me back in,” he says. “And this mission was never sanctioned; as far as they know, Valentine turned me. I’m sure your parents can tell you that you’ve got to bring something of _worth_ back if you want to come in from the cold. Mercy has its price.”

Alec wants to argue, but he knows it’s a lost cause. Hell, if Jace had been open to suggestion, he’d never be on this insane mission in the first place. But something had clearly broken inside of his parabatai, something that couldn’t just be fixed by some down time and a long talk. No, Alec had gone along with the plan only because he’d known that Jace would do it with or without him.

“At least let me redraw your iratze,” he says instead. Runes drawn by parabatai are always stronger than the ones drawn by others, and Alec is well acquainted with Jace’s healing marks because he put most of them there himself. It’s been two weeks since they’ve seen each other, and about twice that since Alec redrew the rune. Arguing has not been conducive to their small rituals.

When Jace doesn’t reply, he takes it for agreement, reaching for the hem of his shirt and lifting it just enough to reveal the rune. When Alec sees the mess of purple and blue surrounding it, like watercolors on his skin, he freezes. “ _Jace._ ”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I told you; Valentine’s building his army. That includes me, for now.”

“Does building up his army include kicking the crap out of you?” Alec asks, incredulous. He pushes the material up higher, past their Parabatai rune, trying to see the extent of the damage as he takes a knee beside Jace. Higher than that, the bruises are green, yellowing around the edges. _Older_. “How long has this been going on? Why haven’t you healed them?”

 _Two weeks. I’m not allowed to, because father says I need to learn to fight while injured._ “I just haven’t gotten around to doing it yet,” Jace says, shrugging. His gloved hand closes over Alec’s, holding it in place. “You can do it now, all right?”

There’s a pregnant pause as Alec studies him; after all these years, he knows when his parabatai is lying. But he withdraws his stele with his free hand anyway, redraws the iratze and presses down hard enough that it’ll last longer this time. It’s not enough, of course, not nearly, but if this is all that Alec can give him, he’ll gladly do it.

The bruises fade as he completes the rune, Jace’s skin returning to its normal pallor. Alec watches until they’re gone completely, and then he becomes aware that his parabatai still hasn’t let go of his other hand. It’s just a light press of his fingers, nothing so earth-shattering, but underneath his own palm, he can feel the heat emanating from Jace’s side.

“Thanks.” Jace’s face is impassive, but the slight tremor in his voice is _telling._ He’s hurting beyond what he can hide, grateful for the small mercy that only Alec can see. Someone he can actually _trust_.

Alec stands, releasing his grip on Jace’s shirt and allowing the fabric to fall over the spot they’d both been holding. Covering their parabatai rune from view once more. _It’s not fair_ , he thinks. He’d been certain that he was over Jace. That his feelings for his adopted brother had been resolved. He’d kissed Magnus Bane in front of a roomful of dignitaries, for Angel’s sake. Surely that had to have counted for _something_.

But as he looks at Jace and Jace looks at him, the stink of New York heavy in the air, Alec realizes that absolutely _nothing_ has changed. His parabatai has the same haunted look in his eyes that he’d had the day they’d first met, the day that Alec had decided to love him because it was clear that no one ever had.

 _His chest hurts_. His heart beats faster, he has trouble breathing. Everything Magnus described and then some, except Alec has been feeling this all of his god damned life and it’s so _familiar_ he could scream. This isn’t about **desire** ; it never has been. Alec has loved Jace for so long that he hardly knows who he is _without_ this love, and it’s starting to look like he never _will_.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says finally, and Jace smiles. It’s a small, crooked thing, and it _hurts_ Alec to see it.

“I’m okay,” Jace says. “You don’t need to worry about me. I can do this.”

Alec wants to punch him across the face and knock him out, or even haul him back home by force—kicking and screaming-- if he has to. _Don’t go back to him,_ he thinks, and he only manages to keep it together through bulkhead determination and years of practice. “Are you sure—“ he starts to ask, but Jace is already shaking his head.

“Two weeks,” he says, withdrawing a small scrap of paper from his pocket. “Meet me at that address. I don’t think I’ll be able to come back to New York without being seen, so it’s better to keep changing the place.”

Alec closes his fingers over the paper, mouth a thin line. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll be there. And you better be damned sure that you will, too.”

A ghost of a smile. “Oh ye of little faith,” Jace says, and then he’s backing away, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Two weeks.”

Alec stands there until he’s long gone, taking deep lungfuls of the acrid air. The worry is like a living thing in his chest, the thumb drive burning a hole in his pocket. Valentine is a monster, and he’d just let his parabatai walk back into his waiting arms for the second time that month. Guilt weighs on him, fear crushes him, and in his heart, he feels nothing but dread.

 _It’s going to be a long two weeks_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Graphic here.](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/142502426553/asset-agent-hunter-spy-2-of-6-one-two)

The mill is abandoned.

It has been for some time now, and it’s in a field in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania. Alec steps out of the portal and the first thing he notices is the  _smell_. It’s light and pleasant and airy, like fresh grass mixed with the cool night air. A stark contrast to their previous meeting place, and Alec turns to the warlock at his side, raising an eyebrow.

“Should I even ask why you know where this place is?” A poor attempt at conversation, and Magnus merely shrugs.

“There’s precious little of this great country that I  _haven’t_  seen,” he replies. “As you say: I’ve been alive for  _so very_  many years.”

The dig is small and unnecessary, but Alec lets it go. He’s well aware that Magnus doesn’t have to do this for him, let alone for  _free_ , and the fact that the warlock had even agreed to see him long enough so that he could  _ask_  speaks volumes.

Alec opens his mouth to speak—he doesn’t know what he’s going to say, but it feels like he should say  _something_ —but Magnus cuts him off.

“I’ll be back in two hours to bring you home,” he says. “A standing portal is ill-advised at this point, and I don’t think your parents would appreciate a horde of lost Seelies appearing on their doorstep.”

He flutters his fingers in an approximation of a wave, then turns on his studded boots and disappears through the purple light. Alec stares after him before shaking his head, forces himself to compartmentalize. There will be time to make things right with Magnus later, he thinks. For now, he needs to stay on mission.

It’s dark out but the country road is lit by the moon, stars filling the sky in a way that’s impossible to see from the city. The mill is about a mile away, the roof caved in and half of the building already fallen to decay, and Alec wonders what Jace had been thinking, choosing this place. It’s eerie, the way light spills through the broken windows, and he holds his bow at the ready with an arrow notched.  _Just in case_.

“Jace?” he calls out softly, making his way further inside. The door has fallen off its hinges and there’s nothing to really see; just broken machinery everywhere and the occasional rodent scurrying out of sight.

He’s starting to get worried by the time he finds Jace in the corner of one of the rooms, sitting on the floor with his arms crossed over his chest, his head bowed forward in sleep. Alec exhales, stowing the bow as he makes his way towards his parabatai, reaching out to grasp his shoulder and gently shaking him awake. “ _Jace._ ”

The sliver of a blue eye opening is all the warning that Alec gets before his hand is violently shoved away, a seraph blade snapping to life in the darkness. “Jace, calm down!” he shouts, holding his hands up as his parabatai shoves him against the wall, sword at his throat. “It’s me!”

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is their ragged breathing. Jace is blinking furiously, the crazed look in his eyes dissipating as he focuses on Alec, the blade clattering to the floor. “Alec—“ he says, and his voice sounds raspy from disuse. “Sorry, I—I fell asleep.”

He steps away, into a patch of moonlight, and Alec’s breath freezes in his chest. There are no visible injuries on Jace, but his face is gaunt and not even the lighting can disguise the bags under his eyes. If he’d looked like hell  _before_ , he looks even worse  _now_ , the way he’s holding himself reminiscent of a wild animal. “When was the last time you got any rest?” Alec asks. He takes a step towards his parabatai, relief flooding through him when Jace doesn’t flinch.

“Couple days,” he replies. He looks at the hand that Alec’s put on his arm, reaching up as if to touch but stopping halfway. The motion is awkward, jolting. “He’s running me ragged. Gearing up for some precision strike or something, but he won’t tell me where.”

He pulls away completely now, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against a desk covered with dust and mildew. “Did you manage to do anything useful with what I gave you last time?”

“I gave it to our parents,” Alec replies, choosing his words carefully. “They managed to extrapolate some battle strategies from the numbers you gave us. It’s still not an easy fight, but at least we’re better prepared when we encounter them. He’s not just sending out one or two men anymore. Casualties on our side would’ve been much higher without your information.”

Jace nods. “Good,” he says, almost as if to himself. He looks at Alec, a familiar gleam appearing in his eyes, a smile  _almost_  making it across his mouth. “I’m still far from his right hand, but he’s letting me in on his plans a little more. I just need to prove that I’m worthy.”

He reaches down and pulls a thumb drive from his boot, tosses it to Alec. “He’s moving hunters to a second base,” he says. “I’ve narrowed it down to three locations, but I can’t pinpoint which of those it is. The war ship is at full capacity now, and he’s been portaling squads out day and night.”

“And… I saw Seelies. Two of them. I don’t think they know I saw; they came aboard when I was on mission elsewhere but I finished early. They might have been rogue, but considering how powerful Valentine is with the cup…” Jace trails off, shrugging. “It wouldn’t take much to turn their Queen, especially considering how the Clave has been treating them.”

There’s a pit in Alec’s stomach, heavy and leaden, and he clutches the drive so hard that he’s afraid it may break. “That’s a hell of an accusation,” he says. “If you’re right, this should be enough to bring you back home. Magnus is returning in a couple of hours. You can come back to New York with me, lay low while the information checks out…“

He stops talking when he realizes that Jace is looking at him like he’s sprouted a third head. “Didn’t you just hear what I said?” he asks. “I’m finally getting  _somewhere_ , Alec. If I can just hang on a little bit longer—“

“But at what  _cost_?” Alec argues. “Do you think I’m blind? You may be able to fool Valentine, but I can see what this is  _doing_  to you.” He reaches out to grab Jace by the arms, as if to shake some sense into him, but his parabatai surprises him yet again by standing motionless, a blank look in his eyes and his hands hanging at his sides.

“What’s the  _matter_  with you?” Alec demands. Frustration is heavy in his voice but his grip abruptly loses its strength; he barely feels like he’s holding anything at all. “Don’t you  _care_  anymore?”

Jace still has that dead look in his eyes, and he won’t meet his gaze. “Of course I care. Of course I want to come home,” he says, but the words sound hollow.  _Rehearsed_. “But this is more important. I have to see it through.”

Alec lets out a breath, hunkering down so he’s at eye level with the other man. “ _Hey—look at me_ ,” he says. “ _Clary_  wants you to come home. And  _no,_  I haven’t endangered her life by telling her about your mission. She doesn’t know anything about this and she still believes in you enough that she thinks you’re coming back.”

A thought occurs to Alec, and he grabs at it like a lifeline. “Jocelyn woke up, by the way,” he says. “She took one look at your picture and she says you’re  _not_  her son. Which means that you’re free to be with Clary and,  _more importantly_ , that  _Valentine isn’t actually your father_.”

The statement hangs in the air, but it doesn’t get the reaction that Alec hopes for. Instead, Jace merely shrugs, stepping away. “He told me about Clary,” he says. “A week ago. And he may not be my biological father, but he’s still the man who raised me. He proved that the day I came on board.” Training with him had been all too familiar, and while Valentine no longer wears Michael Wayland’s face, his  _fists_  are exactly the same.

“I’m not going back until I have enough to end this, once and for all,” Jace says calmly. “I know that you’re worried, but  _trust me_ , parabatai. If I can’t handle it, I’ll say so. Okay?” He holds out a hand, and Alec stares at it, jaw working.  _Stubborn bastard_.

“Okay.” Alec takes the proffered hand but gives Jace a hard look. “But the  _minute_  you think you need to come in—“

“I’ll tell you,” Jace finishes, releasing his grip. “You worry too much, Alec.” He gives his parabatai a small smile; a peace offering. “I’d have thought that dating Magnus would make you  _less_  uptight, not  _more_.”

The look that Alec gives him is probably the only thing that causes genuine emotion to flicker across Jace’s face that night. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad,” he confirms. “And we’re not dating anymore, so there’s  _that_.” He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly eager to change the subject. His breakup with Magnus had not been an easy conversation, and though the warlock’s feelings had always run stronger than his, Alec had still grown to care for him over the handful of weeks that they’d known each other. He’d never wanted to cause him  _pain_.

“I’m sorry,” Jace says tentatively, and Alec waves him away.

“Can’t be helped,” he replies. “It’s better than leading him on; that wouldn’t be fair to either of us.” He nods at Jace, effectively ending the discussion. “How’s the iratze?”

“Fading,” Jace says, his look turning sheepish. He’d had to use it more often than usual, and the mark has now faded to a dull rust. One more pass, maybe two if the injuries aren’t bad, and it’ll be gone completely. Hell, by any other hand—including Jace’s own—it probably wouldn’t even have made it a week. “Can you do a couple? Just in case.”

Alec’s mouth thins to almost non-existence, but to his credit, he says nothing and only nods. Jace hesitates slightly before pulling his jacket off, followed by his shirt. He holds both in one hand, balled up in a fist. “Don’t say it, okay?” he says tiredly. “ _I know_.”

And this time Alec has to bite his tongue  _hard_ to keep from speaking, his gaze raking over the obvious outline of Jace’s ribs, at all the used up healing runes littered across Jace’s torso. They’re all badly faded and a few are at an awkward angle—clearly drawn by Jace himself—and those are the ones that look the worst, as if the hand that had held the stele had been shaking badly. All in all, he counts five new marks—amissios and mendelins included—far too many considering each rune could be used multiple times before fading completely.

He reaches out to touch the mendelin on Jace’s stomach, the curves so jagged that it’s hardly even recognizable. “How badly were you hurt?” He’s almost proud of the fact that his voice doesn’t shake.

Jace shrugs. “Bad,” he says. “Maybe you can do that one, too?”

Alec counts down from five in his head, breathing in and out, and tries very hard not to think about how much he wants to murder Valentine Morganstern. “Okay.”

In the end, he draws two iratzes, one amissio, and one mendelin on Jace’s torso. Two at his side, two on his upper back. Alec’s fingers linger on the iratze, the one that Jace always keeps at the same spot on his hip.  _Keep him safe_ , he thinks.  _Angel, please keep him safe_.

There’s a hitch in Jace’s breathing—barely anything at all, really—but it’s enough to have Alec  _stop_ , pulling his hand away as if burned. Or he would have, had Jace’s hand not moved to cover his own, fingers grasping,  _pulling_ , until their fingers are interlaced,  _touching_  atop their rune.

Alec’s sharp intake of breath can’t be helped, but his parabatai won’t look at him, his mismatched eyes steadfastly fixed to the broken tiling on the floor. Jace doesn’t speak for so long that Alec wonders if  _he’s_  supposed to, but his skin is warm against his palm and the tight grip against his fingers is such that he can’t bear to break the spell.

Eventually, Jace turns his chin, catches his gaze in the dim light. His voice is so quiet that Alec has to strain to hear. “Are you still—“

“ _Yeah._ ” His response comes quickly, overlapping the latter half of Jace’s sentence out of sheer self-preservation. He can feel sweat break out across his brow and he starts to pull away, but if anything, Jace just holds on to him tighter, those damnable eyes putting an end to all of his efforts.

 _This is wrong_ , Alec thinks, verging on desperate. They’re in the middle of a war and Jace isn’t thinking straight; he’s holding on to whatever vestiges of contact he has to his old life, and Alec is  _it_. His heart is hammering in his chest as he  _also_  thinks:  _I want to kiss him more than I’ve ever wanted to kiss anyone in my life._

Fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), a dull crash from the other room breaks the spell, and both men freeze as some sort of animal scurries across the corridor. As one, they exhale in relief as it turns out to be a wild dog, snarling as it gives chase to a rodent nesting in the broken wall. Both animals disappear from sight almost immediately, but it’s more than enough to break the moment.

Alec’s palm is tingling as he retrieves his hand from Jace’s possession, focusing instead on pocketing his stele. He can feel his parabatai’s gaze back on him but he refuses to look up, trying to pull together the shreds of his self-control.

 _Say_  something.  _Anything_. “I’d do more runes but I’m afraid you’re going to run out of space,” he finally says, but his voice is strained even to his own ears. “You’re starting to look like a walking medical text.”

The look that Jace shoots him is mild, but to Alec’s relief, he puts his clothes back on. He imagines that Jace moves easier now, some of the grace restored to his movements. Stooping to retrieve the sword he’d dropped earlier, he holsters it, obviously getting ready to leave.

There’s still time before Magnus returns, and Alec finds that he can’t just leave it like this, the awkwardness bordering on unbearable. “Why this place?” he asks, lunging at the first thing that comes to mind. “How did you even find it?”

For a moment, Alec thinks he won’t reply, but he sets his jaw and looks away. “Demon hunt,” Jace says, voice flat. “When I was eleven. A few months before my father was supposedly murdered, I went after a ravener demon by myself. Tracked it here, but it turned out to be a nest. I was half-dead by the time my father found me and got me out. He was mad as hell, but I could tell that he was proud, too.  _Proud_  that I had what it took to go after it in the first place.”

 _Right, then_. As if Alec isn’t worried about him  _enough_. “Are we meeting back here in two weeks?” he asks instead, because he knows that if he starts talking about Jace’s  _‘father’_ , he won’t be able to  _stop_.

“Never the same place twice,” Jace replies, holding up a post-it between his index and middle fingers. “Hope you’re still friends with Lydia.”

“Lydia? But she’s in—“ Alec trails off, snatching the paper from his hand and glancing at the address. “…right. I guess I’ll see you in Paris.”

He turns back to Jace after he pockets the note, but his parabatai is already walking away. The only consolation prize that Alec gets is that he’s not holding himself quite so stiffly anymore, and he swallows hard as he watches him disappear through the broken entrance.

He clenches and unclenches his left hand as he makes his way out of the mill some minutes later, walking back to the dirt path to await Magnus’ return. He can still feel the heat of Jace’s skin, the sound of his voice when he’d  _asked_ —

Magnus arrives precisely on time, and his knowing look is all the confirmation that Alec needs.

His  _palm_  burns all the way home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Graphic here.](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/142697977073/asset-agent-hunter-spy-3-of-6-one-two)

There’s blood on Jace’s shirt.

This is the first thing that Alec notices when he steps through the threshold of the empty church. It’s abandoned, of course, but perhaps only in the last five years or so, because some of the windows are still intact and the stained glass monolith that depicts the Christian savior dying on the cross remains unblemished.

Jace’s back is turned to Alec and the bottom half of his clothing is stained with crimson, red and wet, and he’s leaning against a pew as he runs his stele over the pale iratze at his hip. He looks up when Alec approaches, eyes unfocused, hand trembling.

“ _Give me that_ ,” Alec says, and he takes the stele from him, pulling at the fabric of his shirt. He works quickly, methodically, ignoring the deep gashes that run down Jace’s chest as he redraws first an iratze, then an amissio, in quick succession.

He waits for the bleeding to stop, for the wounds to seal, for the pallor to return to Jace’s cheeks.

 _It’s the longest three minutes of his life_.

“What happened?” he asks, when Jace’s breathing evens out. His parabatai slumps against the dusty bench, forearms resting against the pew in front of him, head bowed. A parody of a prayer, but in reality he’s just too weary to _stand_.

“ _Vampires_ ,” he says. “They were in the cemetery when I arrived. I didn’t expect them to attack, but—“ He frowns. “They didn’t say anything, they just rushed me. One got too close. The rest are _dust_.”

Alec blinks, brows knitting together in confusion. “That makes no sense. The _accords_ —“

“Don’t apply to rogue shadowhunters,” Jace cuts in. “Or maybe I’m wrong and they didn’t know who I was. Or maybe Valentine sent them to _test_ me. Maybe the Clave sent them to _kill_ me. _Maybe I’m losing my fucking mind_ —“

He gets up in a rush, dragging a hand through his hair as he puts distance between them, walking up the aisle as he leaves bloody footprints across the floor. Every day that passes feel so much longer now, as if his life two months ago is a memory so distant that he can recall only fragments of it. He closes his eyes and sees only _him_ \-- the sharp edge of his smile, the _tone_ of his voice.

 _Jonathan mustn’t disappoint father_.

Food tastes like ash in his mouth. Even water makes him ill, nowadays. _It’s all in your head, little boy._ Jace tells himself that he does it because he needs Valentine to trust him, that he can turn off the part of his brain that feels anything at all because _this is his **mission**_.

At night, he washes his hands over and over, but he can’t get the blood off of them.

He’s so afraid that Alec can _see_.

Jace fumbles at his breast pocket for the thumb drive—there’s quite a bit more on it now, blood experiments, Seelie troop movement, possible strike locations, intel that might _actually_ turn the tides of the war—and his hands are shaking so badly that he almost drops it.

“The location of our next meet is on it, too,” he says. “ _Take it--_ “ And Alec does, covering the distance between them in a few long strides, both hands closing over Jace’s.

“ _Come home,_ ” he says. “Whatever it is, whatever you think you’re doing, it’s not worth it. _Just_. Come home, Jace. _Please_.”

Jace looks at their joined hands for a long moment, longing in its purest form crossing over his features, and for a split second Alec almost thinks he’s going to say _yes_.

“He’s planning something big,” Jace says instead. He pulls away, takes a step towards the window and stares at the bits of colored glass. “All I have is a codename. _Rebirth_. I don’t know if it has anything to do with the Seelies, but I know it’s going to go down soon. Valentine talks like it could win the war.”

He shudders inwardly at the thought of his father’s private chambers aboard the Morning Star, at the stench of blood that permeates the air around it. _People enter; they don’t come out_. He knows the smell of sulphur that accompanies a greater demon summoning well by now, and he also knows that Valentine has little need for _memories_. Jace can hear him, sometimes, through the walls. His ear pressed up against the cold metal, straining to hear the low murmur of speech in a language that he cannot understand.

 _The Morning Star is a cold place_.

“Just a little bit more, and I…” Jace takes a breath, turns away from the window. He looks small when backlit against all the stained glass, _lost_ , and his shoulders are hunched, turned in towards himself. “The next time we meet, I—I’ll come in. Okay?”

Every fiber of Alec’s being wants to argue the point, to _press_ him to come home **now** , but Jace looks like he’s going to _break_ at any moment. He’s reminded again of the boy he’d first met—a mess of bruises and big, wounded eyes—and Alec knows that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for him. He’ll wait if Jace wants him to wait. He’ll stand down and do nothing if Jace asks him to.

“Two weeks,” he says. “With or without the plans for Rebirth, you’re coming back with me.”

The gratitude in Jace’s eyes is enough to quell the dread rising in his throat, and his parabatai shifts slightly, swaying into his personal space but stopping just short of touching him. His hand twitches, makes an aborted gesture towards Alec, the hesitance all too clear.

A decade with the Lightwoods and all it takes is a month a half for Valentine to destroy everything that Alec has worked so hard to build with him. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “ _Jace. It’s okay._ ”

He puts a hand on his shoulder and Jace steps into him willingly, curling into the space of his arms unlike he’s ever done before. He’s practically clinging to him in his desperation, his face buried in the space between Alec’s neck and shoulder, taking soft, shuddering breaths like he’s fighting back tears.

Alec runs his fingers through his hair, pets the nape of his neck. He doesn’t know what to say, so he makes small, comforting noises in the back of his throat in the hopes that Jace will understand.

 _I’m here_ , he thinks. _I’m with you_.

Eventually, Jace quiets, his breathing evening out, and Alec suddenly becomes aware that the hand that’s gripping the collar of his jacket isn’t _gripping_ so much as it is… _caressing his chest_. As far as signals _go_ , it isn’t really _much_ , but it’s certainly enough to give him _pause_. His heart starts beating so loudly that he’s certain his parabatai can hear it, and Alec feels too tall, too large and clumsy for this, but Jace fits into the circle of his arms so perfectly that he can scarcely _breathe_.

“You don’t have to…“ He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence because Jace _knows_ how he still feels about him. He’d never be so _cruel._

“ _I want to._ ” The words are slightly muffled against his chest, and Alec looks down as Jace looks up, their lips bare inches apart. His parabatai is just _staring_ at him with those eyes of his, _waiting_ , and every corner of Alec’s body feels like it’s lit from the inside.

“Jace, can I—“

The _answer_ comes just as swiftly. “ _Yeah._ ” He’s barely finished speaking before Alec bridges the gap between them, before he has the time to lose his _nerve_. Their lips meet and— _just like that_ —they’re _kissing_ like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

 _Maybe it is_.

Alec kisses Jace like it’s the first and last time he’s going to kiss anyone ever, like he’s drowning and Jace is air. _This is a bad idea_. It’s a _terrible_ idea and it’s _illegal_ to boot, and they’re both going to get exiled for this, but Alec doesn’t _care_.

He kisses Jace and Jace kisses him back, pressing against him from waist to chest, fingers curling against the nape of his neck. He’s desperate and hungry for it, so enthusiastic that Alec is almost taken aback by the force of him. His back hits the stained glass as Jace leans into him, his kisses turning urgent, _searing_ , and it’s only until there’s a sharp pain at his lower lip that he _stops_. _Pulls back._

There’s blood on his lower lip, and Alec touches it with his index finger, stares at it. “ _Jace_ …”

“I’m sorry,” Jace says, face ashen. His eyes are wide as he looks at the smear of red, taking one step back, and then another. He’s curling into himself again, crossing his arms over his chest as if he’s so starved for _touch_ that he settles for his own warmth. “I didn’t _mean_ to—“

Alec closes his eyes, counts to five before going after his parabatai, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. _He needs me_. “It’s okay,” he says, and this time there’s nothing passionate about his embrace. He’s holding Jace like he’s his _brother_ , like he knows that he’s afraid of the dark but too proud to say it. “You’re confused right now. I get it. It’s _okay_.”

“We don’t have to _stop_ ,” Jace says, and there’s panic at the edges of his voice. He’s fraying, and Alec just holds him _tighter_. “I can—“

“It can wait until you come home,” he says firmly.  “If you still feel the same way, then we’ll _talk_. But right now, I’m your parabatai. It’s _enough_.”

Jace makes a noise in the back of his throat, the sound akin to a wounded animal, but the fight goes out of him and he sags in his arms. Alec’s mouth is still burning from the contact, but whatever it costs him to just hold Jace like this, he pays it without _complaint_.

His parabatai is unraveling before his eyes, his father chipping away at him a little piece at a time. Alec is afraid that soon there won’t be any of Jace left. There is no Nephilim rune for this, no warlock to spell a siphon for his _strength_ , and _this_ , **here** , is the only way he can lend it.

Eventually, they find their way to one of the benches, strewn with leaves and dust. Jace falls asleep on Alec’s shoulder like a child, his parabatai’s arm wrapped around his shoulders as he watches over him. An hour passes, perhaps a little more, until Alec shakes him awake as gently as he can.

“You have to go,” he says, his fingers gentle against Jace’s cheek. “They might suspect if you’re gone too long.”

Jace nods but doesn’t move away, turning his chin further into Alec’s touch. “Two weeks,” he says. This time, when he kisses Alec, it’s soft and sweet, the barest brush of his lips against his. It’s over before Alec can protest— _we talked about this_ —but the pressure lingers and _aches_. _A promise._ “And then I’ll be home and we can _talk_.”

Wordless, Alec can only nod.

He watches as Jace stays close a moment longer, the heat of his body permeating the layers of their clothes. His heart doesn’t skip a beat but it does feel as if there isn’t much more of this that he can take, this bittersweet _hurt_ that settles so heavily.

 _Two weeks_. Not even enough for the moon to grow full, and yet it feels like an eternity.

When Jace leaves, Alec doesn’t get up to follow. He tracks him from their spot on the bench, follows him with his gaze until he passes the threshold of the church and disappears from view.

He doesn’t cry for him; that isn’t his way. But he comes pretty damned _close_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter graphic here.](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/142967753578/asset-agent-hunter-spy-4-of-6-one-two) [Fanart of Jace aboard the Morning Star here.](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/146222993973/hes-in-complete-darkness-and-he-cant-see)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-graphic depictions of violence and torture. It’s nothing that hasn’t been depicted on the show, but the way it affects the characters involved may be a psychological trigger for some. Please tread carefully.  
> \---

_Two weeks later, Jace doesn’t show up._

Alec has never been to the Istanbul Institute before, and he calls in every favor he can think of to no avail. In the end, it’s Isabelle who gets him _actual_ access, one of her many varied friends portaling him through under the radar. Alec can’t risk the paper trail at this point, unsure of what story he and Jace will have to tell the Clave upon his return, and while Lydia had been his way into the Paris Institute, this is far more uncertain territory.

“You’re seeing Jace, aren’t you?” Izzy had asked him, and Alec had stopped short of entering the portal, looking at her with raised eyebrows. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ve been keeping an eye on you since he left. You disappear for a day every two weeks and then you miraculously come back with Circle intelligence. I’m not stupid, big brother.”

“Tonight’s the last time,” Alec had vowed. “I’m bringing him home, whether he likes it or not.”

They’d embraced then, hard and tinged with desperation; whatever else Jace is to Alec, he’s always going to be their brother _first_.

He’d taken Isabelle’s expression with him through the portal— _her eyes hard with resolve_ —into the crisp air of a foreign Institute.

He’d made her a _promise_ , and he would see it through.

The location that Jace had marked is quite a ways out of the city, some quaint restaurant surrounded by idyllic countryside. Alec doesn’t feel even a little bad about jacking the motorcycle from some distracted Lothario making out with his girlfriend on the street, promising himself that he’ll return it after he’s done.

The motorcycle purrs to a stop outside the condemned establishment, the boards on the windows looking somewhat new. It looks like it’s only been closed for a few months, and the door opens with a soft click when he inscribes the _open_ rune across its surface.

There’s something in the _air_ , sour-sweet and acrid—almost like _wine_ —and a fine layer of dust coats the tables and chairs, even the bar at the far end of the establishment. Jace isn’t here yet, the first time he’s arrived before his parabatai, and Alec takes a chair from one of the stacks and sets it down, back against one of the corners. He can see the entrance from here but remains some distance from the nearest window; it’s a safe spot to _wait_.

Alec folds his arms across his chest, the unease creeping through his system like _rot_. Why would Jace be late? _Today_ of all days? If he doesn’t show—But he can’t think like that. It’s been ten minutes. Fifteen at most. Alec has to be patient, to give him a little more time.

He gets to his feet, pacing. The smell inside the restaurant is cloying; what _is_ that, anyway? Strangely enough, the scent is almost stronger now, as if the fresh air wafting through the open door isn’t dispersing it so much as _strengthening_ it, and if that isn’t _strange_ —

Alec gets a hand on the bar counter, fingerless gloves sliding across the dusty surface. He notices almost dispassionately that there are fresh streaks there, disturbing the otherwise pristine layer of dust, and they almost look like _—_

Alec staggers, _falls_.

_Dreams._

“ _Have you decided, yet?_ ” It’s Jace’s voice, but it’s much softer and younger, like it had been years and years ago.

When Alec blinks his eyes open, he sees exactly what he expects to.

Jace is looking up at him with those big eyes of his, his body lean but his face still soft with youth, his fingers twisting around his stele. He’s nervous, though he’s trying so hard not to show it; Alec can tell. Alec can _always_ tell.

“I’ll be good to you,” Jace continues, biting his lip. “I’ll be good _for_ you. And— and it’ll mean that we’ll always be together. We never have to be apart.”

Alec remembers it all as clearly as if it had been yesterday. “You don’t have to explain,” he says. “I thought about it all night and I already decided. Yes, I’ll be your parabatai, Jace. Angel knows you need someone to watch your _back,_ or you’re going to send mom to an early grave with all the worrying you make her do.”

Jace’s smile lights up his whole face, and even then, even though it costs Alec _so damned much_ to agree, he knows it’s worth it. He ruffles Jace’s hair, trying to leaven the moment, but Jace pulls him into a tight hug, burying his face in Alec’s neck and it’s so bittersweet that he wants to _cry_.

Always together, but forever apart.

_Sed lex dura lex._

His parabatai mark _burns_.

Alec touches a hand to it, hissing in pain as it _aches_ beneath his skin, like a raw wound that doesn’t bleed. He looks around and he’s no longer at home, no sign of Jace anywhere, and he realizes that he’s curled up on the floor, damp and cold. It smells like metal and there’s blood in his mouth, heavy and thick on his tongue.

 _Is it mine?_ he thinks in a daze, but he doesn’t remember being _hit_. He tries moving his arms and legs, making as if to sit up, and that’s when it hits him; everything _hurts_. His chest feels like a giant bruise, needle marks litter the crooks of his elbows; even his stomach is twisting sharply and Alec thinks—  _when was the last time I ate anything?_

He’s in complete darkness and he can’t see anything, but he manages to push himself up into a sitting position, curling around himself for warmth. He’s only wearing pants— threadbare and tattered— and he’s so cold and so hurt that he’s _trembling_.

There’s a sound outside that makes his hackles rise, a hard clang of metal as the door opens, followed by a spill of yellow light. Alec gasps, shrinking back in horror-fear, adrenaline coursing through his body.

 _Valentine_.

“It’s time, son.” His voice is tinged with satisfaction, and Alec thinks: **_Son_?**

With light comes _realization_ , and he looks down at hands that are not his own, the bruised and bleeding knuckles so familiar that he cries out. _Angel, no—_

He watches in horror as he holds up his hands, partially to block the light but mostly to try to fend Valentine off, and Alec hears himself _speak_.

_“No. Please, I—“_

It’s not his voice.

He’d already **_known_** , but hearing Jace sound so broken makes him want to vomit. _What has he done to you?_ he thinks, trying to _say_ something, _do_ something, but all he can do is watch, share Jace’s body and his fear, a silent witness to his parabatai’s suffering.

_Is this a nightmare? Angel, please let this be a nightmare._

But Jace is dragged out into the light by two men, their faces blurred by dream haze, and his feet are cut by the small, sharp stones littering the floor. There’s a seal on the ground, so intricate and complex that Alec can’t even hope to remember it, and the stench of burning flesh is heavy in the air.

“ _Father_ ,” Jace’s voice is hoarse, pleading, and that sounds so wrong because Jace doesn’t beg, he _never_ begs, and Alec wants to be sick. He doesn’t want to see this, he can’t, because he loves Jace more than he’s ever loved anyone and he can’t bear it—

They strap him down and Jace is struggling in earnest now, still begging his father to stop, and no one listens except for Alec.

_He’s never felt so powerless._

From far away, chanting begins. The wind kicks up as a red light surrounds him. He’s so scared, he’s so scared.

 ** _Magic_**. Where is it coming from? A warlock? A demon? _He can’t see_. He looks around wildly but nothing registers, and the stench of sulphur is everywhere— powerful, overwhelming.

Valentine’s face comes into view; he lays a hand against Jace’s clammy forehead, forcibly turning his chin and holding him fast, baring his son’s _neck_ to him. “Brave boy,” Valentine says, and his other hand comes into view, holding a stele with a red crystalline tip. It gleams like blood, like a carcass fresh hewn, like the purest ruby. It’s nothing like Alec has ever seen before, and Jace goes into a blind panic, he screams and screams and-

“Be **_reborn_**.”

Alec blacks out.

-0-

When he comes to, he knows he’s still dreaming.

Jace is sitting next to him, handsome and smiling, and his eyes are unshadowed by pain. They’re both looking out at the countryside, out of place in their shadowhunter gear, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

He dreams of Jace kissing him, mouth soft, his fingers lingering at the high point of his cheek. “Don’t,” he says. “ _Don’t come after me._ ”

And Alec wants to laugh, to cry. Because Valentine is a _monster_ , and to think that he would ever give either of them a _choice_ is a cruel joke.

“Jace,” he says, and this time when he reaches for his parabatai, his fingers pass through him like smoke.

“ _I’m already here._ ”

-0-

This time, when Alec wakes up, he’s _cold_.

His hands are tied in front of him and he can smell fresh air, cool and crisp but heavy with dust. It’s nighttime, but his body feels heavy enough that he knows it’s not the same day he’d left. How much time has passed? Surely not more than a day? Perhaps two?

His mouth is dry, his throat sore. He _hurts_ , but not because he’s been beaten. He’s hungry and his muscles are stiff with disuses, but he’s otherwise unharmed.

There’s a bowl of clean water beside him and he lunges for it, drinking noisily as soon as he’s able to sit up, quenching the thirst burning inside of him.

He drinks all of it, his stomach cramping with the liquid, but he manages to keep it down. He can’t sense Jace any longer, but his parabatai mark is intact and he takes cold comfort in this fact. Alec looks around his prison—a barred cell surrounded by ruins of some sort— and checks himself for his gear. All of it has been taken, of course, and as he pats himself down, he fingers the loose threads from his jacket.

“You awake, then?”

His head snaps up just in time to see three Circle members approaching, their runes stark red on their necks. The closest one unlocks his cage and the others train seraph blades on him, and Alec is forced to his feet.

They walk silently amongst the ruins, broken pieces of white marble littered across the ground. Eventually they reach some sort of building, ancient and sprawling, high walls crumbling all around them, as silent as a tomb.

When they enter, it becomes clear that that is exactly what it is, a vast mausoleum surrendered to time, and the only light that passes through comes from torches that are bracketed against the walls. Alec doesn’t ask any questions; he already knows what he’s going to _find_.

Eventually, the path widens, opens into a large chamber. There is a dais in the very center of it, the room empty except for the intricate carvings all around them. An archeologist’s dream, but Alec has eyes for none of it.

Atop the dais stands Valentine, torch light flickering against the black of his clothing. Beside him stands _Jace_ , his eyes empty, _hollow_. His expression remains unchanged as they shove Alec to his knees at the base of the platform, and still, the shadowhunter can only look at _one thing_.

The circle rune at the side of Jace’s neck is a fresh, angry crimson, the skin still shiny because it’s so damned _new_.

Alec feels like he’s drowning, like his blood is ice water and his heart won’t beat, and the bile rises in his throat but he chokes it down— he won’t give Valentine the satisfaction. _Not now, not ever_. He looks at Jace because he’s the only thing that matters, and he begs him with his eyes, with every fiber of his being: _Parabatai. Please don’t be gone. Please give me a sign. Please please please--_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Graphic here.](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/143075555988/asset-agent-hunter-spy-5-of-6-one-two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's lair is in Bodrum, Turkey, which used to be called Halicarnassus in the ancient world. In 350 B.C., Queen Artemisia had a grand tomb built for her deceased husband, King Mausolus (who also happened to be her brother, because that’s how they rolled in Caria, apparently), and it was so huge and beautiful that Mausolus’ name is now associated with all structures of this type (i.e. Mausoleum). The ruins are apparently a tourist destination now, but for the purposes of this fic I’m pretending that it’s not, because Jalec being dramatic amidst ruins that paid tribute to dead, married siblings was just too good to pass up.  
> \---

There isn’t even a flicker of warmth in Jace’s eyes, his gaze so dispassionate that he may as well have been staring at a stranger. Alec wants to go up there and shake him, _~~hold him, kiss him~~ ,_ but he stays where he is and waits for the other shoe to _drop_.

“ _Father,_ ” Jace says, as calmly as if he were discussing the weather. “Why is my parabatai here?”

Valentine smiles faintly. “Do you remember the lesson I taught you when you were a boy? About training pets to be of use to you?” he asks. “You’ve made a _mistake_ , son, and now you have to rectify it.” He looks at Alec like he’s a particularly distasteful bit of dross that he’s found at the bottom of his shoe, and Alec has never wanted to kill him _more_.

“How?” Jace asks curiously. “The way you did with the _bird_?”

“Exactly,” Valentine replies. “But you don’t need my help to do what needs to be done, anymore. You’re old enough to do it yourself now, aren’t you?”

When Jace doesn’t answer immediately, his tone darkens. “ _Aren’t you?_ ”

“Yes, father.” The answer is knee-jerk, automatic, and Jace squares his shoulders and lifts his chin.

That’s about as much as Alec can take, and his lips draw back in a sneer. “ _Congratulations_ ,” he says to Valentine, sarcasm oozing from his voice. “You’ve created a robot who only knows how to agree with you. _That’s_ going to win the war.”

The guard next to him hits him hard across the mouth for his trouble, splitting his lip against the studded leather of his gloves. “ _Speak when you’re spoken to._ ”

Valentine regards him for a moment, then turns back to Jace. The circle is blistering red against his neck, and Alec tries very hard not to look at it. “No more procrastinating, Jonathan.” As he speaks, more circle members trickle in from the tunnels, weapons strapped across their backs and at their waists. _Preparing for war._

 _“_ We have so much more to do tonight.”

A flicker of expression crosses Jace’s face, then vanishes as quickly as it had appeared. “It seems illogical to simply _kill_ someone so skilled,” he says, and though his voice is cold, his words give Alec some measure of _hope_. “Would he not be a useful addition to your army instead?”

Valentine shakes his head. “You have so much to learn, my son,” he says. “But to humor you–”

He steps down from the dais towards Alec, stopping just a few feet short of him. “The Lightwoods were once proud members of the Circle,” he says. “Submit to our rune, swear to bear arms against the Clave, and I will spare your life.”

The shadowhunter at his side cuts the ropes at Alec’s wrists, and he wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, looking from Valentine to Jace and then back again.

His _spittle_ hitting the dirt at the man’s feet is the only answer Alec deigns to give; he doesn’t even bother getting up.

Valentine only smiles in response, waving the guard away as he takes his place beside Jace once more. “There, you see?” he asks, reaching out to grip the back of his son’s neck. “I know blind loyalty when I see it, son. Just as I _know **you**_.”

Jace says nothing as Valentine directs his gaze towards his parabatai, still on his knees at the bottom of the dais. “Jocelyn and Clarissa will join us as soon as the Clave is crushed,” he says. “This _boy_ —he’s the only true **link** you have left to your past.”

His grip on Jace’s neck turns bruising, **_sharp_** , and he shoves _hard_ , would’ve made Jace tumble down the steps if he were anyone _else_. But training kicks in and Alec has never seen him move like this before _,_ twisting in mid-air so fluidly as he lands on his feet, carelessly graceful, in the dirt beside Alec.

Valentine withdraws a knife from his belt—a silver blade with a wicked edge—and tosses it at the ground between them, embedding itself with a thud into the crumbling ground.

“ _Sever it._ ”

Alec’s brows knit together as he stares at the blade in confusion. “A death match?” he asks. “You can’t be _serious_.” But apparently he is, because all around them the Circle members close ranks, standing shoulder to shoulder at unspoken command. There’s so many of them now, more than Alec has ever seen in one place before, but before he can even attempt a head count, Jace takes a step forward, his fists raised.

“This isn’t a match,” he says. “It’s an _execution_.”

“I’m not going to fight you,” Alec says, searching Jace’s eyes for some semblance of emotion. “Even if I _win_ , they’re going to kill me anyway. This is _ridiculous_ , and I’m not going to give Valentine a _show_. _You_ don’t want this, Jace. We’re _parabatai_ —“

“I don’t need it. Or _you_ ,” Jace says flatly. “The city of Bones. _Hodge_. All you ever _do_ is hold me back from what I’m _meant_ to do.”

“If what you’re meant to do is become a heartless automaton controlled by a psychopath, then you’re _damned right_ that I’m going to hold you back,” Alec snaps. “I _beat_ you at the city of Bones. I can do it _again_.”

The smirk on Jace’s mouth turns ugly. “I don’t need a weapon for this,” he says, nodding his head at the thin blade. “Pick it up, and maybe you’ll even have a fighting chance.”

But Alec gets to his feet, ignoring the blade. “We’ll see,” is his only comment. He needs to buy time so that he can talk to Jace, get through to him somehow, and if he can find a way to prolong this farce, perhaps he can—

He doesn’t even get to finish his train of thought before Jace is _on him_.

Alec barely gets his hands up in time to deflect a vicious punch to the chest, side-stepping neatly as his parabatai attempts to engage him, coming in faster, _harder_. He doesn’t do anything but block, his long limbs coupled with years of being Jace’s favorite sparring partner allowing him to deflect the worst of the blows, still desperately looking for an opening.

His diligence goes unrewarded, however, as there’s no room to breathe _,_ let alone _talk_ , and it’s all Alec can do to keep Jace from taking his head off, he’s so god damned _fast_. It doesn’t help that Alec’s not hitting him _back_ , all of his motions designed to evade rather than hurt.

Jace _sees_ this, of course he does, and it only makes him angrier, his fists and elbows a flurry as he presses Alec, no longer holding back as he tries to get him to throw a punch, a kick, _something_. **Anything _._**

Alec’s head snaps back as a jab slips through his guard, and he’s momentarily dazed as Jace presses his advantage, hits him with a hard right cross and then an uppercut, and he’s moving so quickly now that Alec can barely see his _fists_.

A vicious roundhouse to the temple makes stars explode in the space behind his eyes, and he drops to the ground and doesn’t bother getting up.

Jace doesn’t follow him down, knows his parabatai is _done_ , and he just stands above him with his hands raised, bristling with rage. “ _Fight me_ ,” he snarls, and he’s like an animal, his fists clenched so hard that he draws blood from his own palms. “ ** _Get up and fight, you coward._** ”

Alec’s heart slams in his rib cage, the insult stinging, _stinging like an open wound,_ and he’s trembling now, blood dripping down his chin.

 _Jace is gone_ , he thinks. _Jace is gone and I’m going to die_.

His gaze flickers towards the _knife_ , still embedded in the earth barely two feet away, and he reaches for it with numb fingers, wrapping them around the hilt before rising to his feet.

Jace is ready for him, balancing on the balls of his feet, his fists held up, fury radiating from every pore, and Alec—

 _Alec throws the knife away_.

It skitters across the dirt, hitting the foot of the steps, and he simply stands with his arms at his sides, defenseless, and Jace fucking _howls_ , throwing himself at Alec in a rage. There’s no finesse in his movements, whatever grace he had all but gone, and Alec goes down like a sack of bricks, Jace’s fists pummeling him over and over and over and still he doesn’t raise a _god damned finger_ to defend himself. An eye swells shut but he can still see his parabatai, more clearly than he’s ever seen him in his entire life, and he realizes with a start that Jace is _crying_ , tears running down his cheeks even as Alec’s blood splatters across him, his knuckles stained red with it.

Eventually, the violence slows. _Stops_.

Alec is a bloody mess beneath his parabatai, but he can still hear the _applause_ , the slow clap issuing from Valentine’s palms.

“ _Excellent_ ,” he says, and there’s _pride_ in his voice because he can’t see what Alec sees, or maybe he can but he just doesn’t _care_.

 _Jace,_ he thinks, as he takes a breath and almost chokes on his own blood. _Jace._

“Finish it, son.”

 _This isn’t you_ , Alec wants to say, but he can’t get the words past his teeth. Jace’s fist is still poised above him, glistening red and wet, pupils so dilated that they’re almost black, and the truth hits him with such stark clarity that it leaves him breathless.

 _I’m ready to die_ , he realizes. _If this is what you need… I’m **ready**_.

And this time, when Alec tries to speak, the words come so, so easily.

“ _It’s okay,_ ” he whispers. “ _Jace. It’s okay._ ”

And _just like that_ , his parabatai crumbles.

Jace’s eyes are mirrors to his soul and suddenly they’re entirely _his_ again, a mismatched splatter of gold and blue, his shoulders dropping like a marionette with its strings cut. Fists unclenching, trembling fingers reaching out to touch Alec’s bruised jaw.

He’s so very, very gentle.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Jace says, and the pain in his voice hurts Alec more than any blow.

 “I’m so sorry.”

And then he gets up and off of him, moving so fast that Alec has trouble _seeing_. Jace is a blur, an after image barely glimpsed when seen out of only one good eye, and time speeds up and everything happens all at once:

His parabatai goes for the knife and Valentine shouts at him to _stop_ , leaping from the dais as they grapple for it, father and son struggling so viciously that Alec actually attempts to get up and help but he _can’t_ ; he’s too _hurt_.

Then there’s more shouting, the familiar hum of electricity as the sound of a _whip_ cracks through the air, and relief floods through Alec like morphine. _Good girl_.

It’s pure chaos, Circle members shouting and unsheathing their weapons, breaking rank as they flood towards the entrance, the clash of seraph blades and iron and steel echoing in the distance, and throughout all of it, Valentine and Jace are still _fighting_.

They can’t be more than six feet away from him, and Alec gets a front row seat to the action as Valentine breaks Jace’s right arm, the sickening snap of bone reverberating through the din.

“ _I can fix you_ ,” he snarls, his knee shoving down on Jace’s sternum as he grips his blond hair, knocking his head back into the bottom step _once, twice,_ like a rag doll. “ _Just a little more and you would’ve been the perfect son_ \--“

 _No,_ Alec thinks desperately, and there’s blood pooling on the ground under Jace’s head, but his left hand is twitching out, still reaching for the knife, and when his fingers finally graze it, he blinks up at his father in a daze. And he _smiles_.

“ _I’m not yours anymore_ ,” Jace says. “ _And I never will be again._ ”

And then his hand moves, the knife in his hand _flashing_ , but he doesn’t stab _Valentine_ , he—

He—

There’s blood, so much of it, and Alec can smell it from this distance and he thinks he’s almost imagining it, it’s so thick—

“ _What have you done?_ ” Valentine’s voice cuts through the din, _frantic_ , and Alec can’t _breathe_ because Jace isn’t moving beneath him, he’s not—

The _pain_ hits him through his parabatai rune like a thousand needles driving into him at once, and it’s _burning_ , burning so intensely and so furiously that Alec _screams_ , screams and screams until his throat is raw and he _can’t_ anymore, until there’s only darkness, hysterical and unending, and _even then_ —

Even then, he still _hurts_.

**_Jace._ **


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change of rating from Mature to Explicit! I ended up overindulging myself with this chapter, but after the hell I put the boys through, I feel like they deserved it. XD Accompanying cover can be found on my tumblr [here. ](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/143950791018/asset-agent-hunter-spy-complete-one-two)

It takes two weeks for Jace to recover.

He keeps the remains of what was once his circle rune, jagged and broken, drained of whatever power Valentine had cursed it with. The knife had left mottled, scarred skin that cut the entire bottom part off; Jace had practically carved through half of the side of his neck in an effort to break Valentine’s hold on him, and he’d lost so much blood that he’d very nearly died.

His little stunt hadn’t been enough to get rid of _everything_ that had been done to him—his father’s experiments had gone on for weeks, after all—but with the Clave and Magnus Bane’s help, Jace is finally free of whatever poison had been in his veins. A privilege hard fought; in the chaos that had resulted after the Clave had stormed the mausoleum, the Circle had apparently withdrawn, with Valentine abandoning him, broken and bleeding, like yesterday’s garbage.

The news of it stings only a little, like the ghost ache from a missing limb.

Jace washes his hands in the infirmary sink, changing into his own clothes for the first time in weeks. As he zips up his grey hoodie, his fingers graze the broken rune etched onto his skin.

It’s a reminder, a badge of what he’s had to endure, what he’s _survived_.

He touches it and thinks: _My father is dead_.

The next time he meets Valentine, it will be as an enemy. Nothing more.

A knock on the door rouses him from his thoughts, Izzy’s voice filtering through the thin wood.

“Ready to go?” she asks, and Jace smiles, small and genuine, before stepping outside to meet her.

“You didn’t have to pick me up,” he says, but she shakes her head and embraces him fiercely, the pressure momentarily taking Jace’s breath away.

“I wanted to,” Isabelle replies. “Alec and Clary aren’t the only people who care about you, you know.”

Jace has the grace to look ashamed at that, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Iz—I don’t know how to thank you for what you did. Coming in after me, after us both… it saved our lives.”

Isabelle sighs. “As if I would do any less,” she says. “Alec told me about his meetings with you after I figured it out. He told me that he was going to bring you home. When he didn’t come back, I knew something was wrong.”

She holds out her hand, the button from Alec’s jacket nestled in the center of her palm. “I was so close to losing you both,” she says. “If I hadn’t grabbed this before he went through the portal…” She shakes her head. By the time the Clave had stormed the scene, Jace had been lying in a pool of his own blood and Alec was practically catatonic. To describe it as a close call didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Next time, don’t try to do everything alone,” she continues. “You’re Alec’s parabatai, but you’re also _my_ brother. I love you, Jace.”

Wordlessly, he nods, fingers closing over Isabelle’s as he pulls her back into another hug. _Family_. Far stronger than anything Valentine had ever offered him, and Jace knows that he’ll never forget that again.

When they disengage, Isabelle hooks a hand through his arm. “There, see?” she says lightly, but her eyes are suspiciously shiny. “That wasn’t so hard.”

Isabelle walks him all the way back to his room, and Jace feels lighter than he has in months.

 

-0-

 

It’s late by the time he goes to see Alec, having spent part of his afternoon with Clary and the rest of it being debriefed by his parents. Jace is exhausted by the end of it, stretched thin from the act of remembering as much as he could of his time on the Morning Star, but he knows that the intel is invaluable. Valentine is still out there, he still has the mortal cup. The Clave is gaining ground but they have to fight for every vicious inch in this war, and it will be long and bloody before it _ends_. Jace soldiers on.

When it’s over, he walks down the corridor of the residential wing, wanting nothing more than to lay down on his own bed and _sleep_.

As he passes Alec’s door, however, his feet come to a natural stop. Lifting his hand to knock, Jace is proud that it shakes only a little. He doesn’t even realize that he’s holding his breath until he hears Alec’s voice, and then he exhales all in a rush, relief flooding through him.

“ _Come in._ ”

The look on his parabatai’s face is almost comically surprised when he pushes open the door; clearly, Alec hadn’t been expecting _him_.

He’s holding a sheaf of papers and his stele is pinched between his fingers, and Jace shuts the door behind himself, shifting from foot to foot.

“Sorry, I—“ he pauses, looks from Alec to the door. “I thought you said I could come in…?”

“No, yeah. Of course you can. I just wasn’t expecting you; Izzy was supposed to come by and pick these reports up, but,” Alec cuts himself off, puts the stack down on his desk. He has an odd look on his face, as if equal parts flustered and irritated, and he frowns. “Since when do you _knock_?”

Jace runs a hand through his hair. He hasn’t been home in so very, very long. “Should I go?” he asks. “If you’re busy, I can come back tomorrow.”

“ _No_ ,” Alec says, and there’s frustration in his voice, stepping away from his desk and towards Jace. “ _Of_ _course_ I’m glad that you’re here. It’s just—I was meaning to drop by your room but I wasn’t sure if you were finished with mom and dad yet.”

Oh. Jace looks at him uncertainly, tilting his head. “Well, for whatever it’s worth… we’re done,” he says. “I gave them everything I could remember. It took all afternoon.”

“I figured,” Alec replies. He opens his mouth as if to speak but then shuts it without saying anything, and the tension is so unbearably awkward that part of Jace wants to borrow Alec’s stele just so he has something to fidget with. He rubs at the scar tissue on his neck instead—not because it hurts, but because it gives him something to do aside from _stand_ there—and Alec moves forward, immediately concerned.

“Is it bleeding?” he asks, and Jace flushes, shaking his head.

“No, it’s fine,” he says. “I was just—“

 “ _Let me see_ ,” Alec says, and there’s something in his voice that makes Jace _tense_ , hesitating only slightly before stepping closer. From this distance he can see the flecks of color in Alec’s eyes, and it reminds him of the _church_ , (as if he could ever _forget)_ , and of the promise he’d made to him.

His parabatai’s hand cups his chin and gently turns it aside, baring the patchwork of mottled scars beneath the jagged half circle on his neck.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Jace says, resisting the urge to turn his cheek into the palm of Alec’s hand. “The healer says it’ll take an iratze, maybe two at the most, for the cosmetic damage to be gone completely.”

Alec makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Do you want me to--?”

“I want _you,_ ” Jace says in a rush, so quickly that he almost overlaps him, and they both freeze.

It’s not like Alec hadn’t come to visit him at the infirmary, after all. He’d taken a couple of days to heal from his own injuries after they’d been brought back, but afterwards he’d dutifully taken his own shift by Jace’s side, inscribing a variety of healing runes on his (mostly) unconscious parabatai under the healer’s watchful eyes.

Jace had been delirious half the time, high on healing magic and Magnus had been there besides, his impassive, almost pitying expression doing nothing to assuage Alec’s clear discomfort. He doesn’t try to talk about it and Magnus doesn’t press, something for which Alec is infinitely grateful.

It isn’t as if he’d forgotten all that had happened during Jace’s mission; how could he? But Alec had been certain that his parabatai wouldn’t even consider it now that he’s safely back home, now that everyone knows that Clary isn’t his sister and they’re free to love each other as much as they please.

_When you’re home, we’ll talk._

They hadn’t talked about it, and Alec had told himself that he was fine with that.

If the look on Jace’s face is any indication, however, it’s clear that he doesn’t share the sentiment.

The moment between them is taut, _weighted_ , Alec’s hand still cupping his chin while Jace just _looks_ at him with those eyes of his. He’s so obviously holding his breath and Alec can’t even fathom _why_ because really, how _dare_ Jace act as if Alec could be anything but _his_ , completely and utterly, as if he hadn’t belonged to him since practically the day they’d _met_ , and Alec thinks: _fuck it_.

He tips Jace’s chin up as he leans down, the kiss meant to be soft and measured, but in reality, it’s anything _but_. It’s been two excruciating weeks and Alec is just _done_ with all of it, with Valentine and the Circle and their stupid war, and right now, all he cares about is Jace. Maybe he’s _all_ he’s ever cared about, come to think of it, and the thought doesn’t even surprise him.

Jace makes a small noise as they press close together, parting his lips for him as Alec takes full advantage, kissing him with an expertise that Jace can’t quite wrap his head around. His parabatai’s arms are like steel bands around his waist and he’s holding him like he’s afraid he’s going to disappear, like he’s going to open his eyes and they’re going to be back at Halicarnassus, and Jace melts against him and thinks: _I’m yours, I’m yours._

Alec’s hands are so sure against his skin, tugging the hem of his shirt up and thumbing at his rune— _their_ rune—and Jace breaks off with a gasp, noting distantly that his back’s pressed against the door and Alec is— _Oh_. The experience of his parabatai knowing more than he in this department is so completely new to him that Jace can’t help but ask, almost shyly: “Have you ever…?”

“Yeah, with—“ Alec pauses, his hands stilling at his waist. “ _We did._ ” He waits for Jace to say something else, but he only flushes becomingly and mutters something about at least one of them knowing what they’re doing, and kisses Alec again.

And Alec knows that Jace has been with women before– hell, he’s had to sit through the anecdotes more times than he’d care to _admit_ – and he pulls away enough to look into his eyes. “We don’t have to do anything _different_ ,” he says. “I can– I can make you feel good without–” He trails off somewhat awkwardly and now Jace is completely red as well, but he’s resolute in his response.

“No, I _want_ to,” he says. “I want to be close to you. I want–”

And that’s really all the convincing that Alec _needs_ , wordlessly reaching down to thread his fingers through his parabatai’s. A look passes between them, _searing and electric_ , and Alec tugs Jace away from the door and towards his bed.

The gravity of what they’re about to do—what they’re already doing, just by virtue of Jace’s presence here—doesn’t escape him, but in spite of everything, Alec has never been more certain of anything in his life.

“ _Alec—_ “ His name on Jace’s mouth is both invitation and plea, and for a long moment, there’s no other sound in the room save for their breath and the beat of their hearts.

Alec takes his time exploring him, long fingers splayed against golden skin as he undresses him, Jace’s own hands twined in his hair, tugging at the collar of his shirt. They’ve seen each other in various states of undress before, of course—almost always covered with blood, frantic as they take turns drawing healing runes on each other in the heat of battle. Alec knows Jace’s body almost as intimately as his own, but it’s so much more different, now. _Better_.

He’s dizzy with the implications of it, staggered by how different sex feels with his parabatai, and he can see the wonder reflected in the mismatched eyes that are locked onto his. Alec’s body is _alive_ , every nerve ending sparking as they press against each other, skin on skin, and he covers Jace’s mouth with his own and drinks down every sigh as he prepares him.

As new lovers, it should be _awkward_. Nervous and almost clumsy at times, but nothing about this feels anything less than _right_.

“Lift up,” Alec says at one point, and he’s got one hand braced on the mattress and his other hand cupping Jace’s backside, and he _still_ can’t believe this is happening even as he’s (finally, _finally_ ) sinking into him. Jace makes a keening noise as the flat planes of his stomach ripple at the contact, sweat beading across his forehead as he stares up at Alec, lips parted and red and swollen, and Alec thinks, crazily: _I did that_.

The heat gripping him is pure bliss and Alec has to strain not too move too quickly, unwilling to inadvertently hurt Jace regardless of what every fiber of his being is screaming at him to _take_. He moves slowly, _surely_ , reading the trembling body beneath him as easily as he would any lexicon, studying the barely visible smear of gold and blue underneath Jace’s eyelids.

“ _Look at me_ ,” he urges, and Jace _does_ , revealing pupils so dilated that they’re almost black, his fingers gripping Alec’s shoulders as he takes him into his body.

 _It shouldn’t be like this_ , Alec thinks, dazed. It can’t possibly be this _good_ , but it _is_ , and in every sense of the word, they’re connected; _heart, mind, body, soul_. He can feel their bond—hell, he can practically _see_ it, at this point, they’re both so far gone—and it’s tethering them to each other inexorably. _Inextricably_. _Parabatai._

They move together as gracefully as they have on any battlefield, heat rising in waves as Jace _tenses_ , hips rising to meet Alec’s at an angle that has him _gasping_. _There_. Brushing against the same spot makes Jace cry out, and Alec hits the same place unerringly every time he pushes back in.

His parabatai writhes like a cat in heat and Alec grabs his wrists, pins him to the bed as he kisses him, long and hard, and _keeps going_.

“ _Alec, I can’t–_ ” Jace manages to get out, breaking the kiss with a wet pop as he pants against his mouth, clearly overwhelmed.

“ _It’s okay_ ,” he says, and he _means_ it, wonder in his eyes as he watches Jace falling apart for him, teeth digging into his lower lip as Alec lets go of his wrist and reaches down, pushing his legs open wider so he can move even deeper inside.

That’s about as much as Jace can take before he arches his back and _comes_ , Alec’s name on his lips and his fingers a brand on his skin, nails digging into his shoulders so hard that they leave bloody crescents. Nothing about his pleasure is _contained_ , and Alec has no illusions that it’s for his benefit. It’s bigger than the both of them, this _thing_ between them, and it’s only at this point that Alec finally slows and _stops_ , his own pleasure still at bay as he lets his parabatai come down from the high of his orgasm as he lays buried between his legs.

The pressure against him is still beautifully intense, but nothing quite compares to the look on Jace’s face, completely unfettered as quiet awe befalls him. _I did that_ , Alec thinks again, and the thought is no less powerful _._

When the last of the shivering has abated, Alec makes as if to pull away, but his parabatai shakes his head. His licks his lips before he whispers, voice hoarse: ‘ _keep going_ ’.

The request doesn’t really surprise him, (Jace has never been one for half-measures), but Alec is careful to keep his movements tentative at this point, watching the play of pleasure/pain across Jace’s face as he crosses the line into oversensitivity. It’s too much for someone’s who’s never done this before, surely, but his parabatai won’t have it.

He threads his fingers through Alec’s hair, tugging at the strands as he bites at his mouth. “ _Alec_ ,” Jace says, and it’s both a command and a moan in a single word.

“But–” The protest dies on his lips when Jace shakes his head, the gesture sharp.

“ _Don’t stop_ ,” he says, and his fingers curl against Alec’s waist, his hips rising in short, jerking movements as he meets his thrusts. 

Sweat drips between them as they find their rhythm once more, the pace of it far more frantic than their earlier coupling. Jace’s chin tips up and his eyes close, the barest flash of blue visible behind his lashes.

 _He’s so beautiful_ , Alec thinks distantly, and his teeth graze the throat that’s been bared for him, nipping at the uninjured side even as he moves his hips, grinding down in tight circles. The motion makes Jace mewl, a stuttered moan making its way past his swollen lips as he clenches inadvertently, his entire body shuddering at the pressure.

“ _You feel_ –” Jace can’t complete the sentence, wouldn’t even know how to start, really, because his body feels like it’s on fire for Alec, and the ache between his legs is pulsing, _deep_ , leaving him gasping.

Stamina rune notwithstanding, he’s never been this turned on for anyone else before, and he’s entirely unsurprised to find that he’s hard again, his length sliding against their bodies with the most delicious friction.

Each time Alec pushes in makes Jace’s breathing hitch—halfway between a sob and a moan—and Alec almost wants to ask him if he’s sure about this, but before the words even form on his lips, Jace says again, _insistently_ : “ _Don’t stop_.” And he looks so wrecked that Alec thinks he could drop dead after tonight and he’d have absolutely no regrets.

 _Angel, he’s so_ — Instead of finishing the thought, Alec just leans down and kisses him again, moving his tongue inside his mouth in a mimicry of the way he’s fucking him, his hips pistoning as he moves harder, faster, chasing his own orgasm as it _finally_ builds inside of him.

He barely even notices that Jace has gotten a hand between them and is pumping himself in time to his thrusts, the slick on his stomach making his fist slide so damned easily. Alec feels like he’s someone else entirely, as if the pleasure building inside of him, blinding and sharp—comes from Jace, _belongs_ to him—and the truth of it is enough to _rouse_ him, snapping his consciousness back to himself with a gasp.

When he finally _comes_ , it’s with a harsh cry, pushing in to the hilt as he spends himself inside of Jace, the abrupt pressure and the spill of heat enough to take his parabatai over the edge for the second time that night, his body already so damned sensitive that he barely even needs his own hand.

Jace closes his eyes and shudders through it, his mouth falling open at the sensations flooding through him. It’s too much, _it’s far too much_ , unfamiliar and addictive and _dangerous_ , and if the way that Alec shakes in his arms is any indication, he’s certain that _he_ can feel it, too.

 _Sed lex dura lex_. It comes to him unbidden, and the fear is sharp, _tangible_ , panic lapping at the edges of his consciousness. But Alec’s arms are iron around him, forehead resting against his as they share breath and heat, and finally, _finally_ , their eyes lock. _Hold_.

They weather the storm together _,_ finding equilibrium within each other.

Parabatai.

 _Always_.

\---

Afterwards, when they’re lying pressed against each other, sticky and sated, Alec reaches for his stele.

The iratze is on his parabatai’s waist, faded badly by now, and he splays his fingers against Jace’s stomach as he redraws it.

He watches as it glows, light ebbing from golden skin as the scarring on his neck fills out and begins to fade. He can feel Jace’s eyes on him, his fingers curling gently against his jaw, thumb passing over the high point of his cheek.

They don’t speak; they don’t have to.

Alec moves back up the length of his body, closing his eyes as he kisses him long and slow and sweet, and Jace’s arms go up and around him, welcoming him _home_.

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that the scars are gone.


End file.
